WARRIOR'S WAY
by Neil Davies
Summary: A crippled boy regains his pride, a bitter man discovers his destiny and Caine must do battle with a karate master in this all-action story of change and growth.


12

WARRIOR'S WAY

Drawing his large, covered wagon to a halt Virgil glanced over at the way station suspiciously before spitting on the ground near the horse tether. Glancing over his shoulder into the gloomy interior of the wagon he heard no movement, not so much as a breath and his ears could detect the quietest animal. His guest was an exceptional man to remain so still after such a gruelling journey.

"This is it," Virgil snarled. "I'll go in first," and climbing down off the buckboard he stretched stiff joints with an oath.

Scanning the timber building ahead for a few moments he approached it, sure than no one was aware of him or taking any undue interest. As a man who had been hunted by both the law abiding and lawless, Virgil never took any chances and certainly wasn't going to get reckless now. Not with the cargo he was carrying, or the size of the reward on offer. Prizing the station door open he eased inside with all the stealth of a man used to making unannounced entries.

All conversation stopped – nothing unusual in that – strangers could and often were a thread out here in the badlands. Squinting through the gloom Virgil made out three men seated at a table playing cards, with a large pile of money in front of just one of them. The card sharp was a sly looking individual close to Virgil's age with thick black hair and swarthy features, his name was Grady and when he wasn't taking men's money through poker he was relieved it at gunpoint; not a man to mess with.

The station owner was a smooth headed man with numerous small and not so small scars populating a granite-hewn face. Boston was his name and he was no stranger to putting lead into flesh either, as before he got a gammy leg he had hunted men for bounty. There was a fifth guy propping up the bar, some undernourished, weasel faced drifter with small animal pelts adorning his belt and a lob sided grey hat.

"What the hell do you want Virgil?" Boston rarely wasted time with pleasantries, not when his knuckles were so much more eloquent. In response the traveller took something from his backpack, unfolded it and pinned it to the notice board. On the board were sketches of many wanted men, but none of them were bald, Chinese or worth ten thousand dollars.

"Have any of you fellows seen this man around here?" Virgil smiled as he asked this question, not expecting a civil answer that was within a million miles of the truth. All five looked at the poster with varying degrees of disinterest, but only Grady the gambler spoke and he seemed to give the consensus view.

"Why should we tell a flea-ridden drifter like you if we had," the contempt was naked and raw?

It washed over Virgil, a man who'd been insulted and persecuted so many times in his life that barbs rarely registered.

"All I require," he said. "Is a yes or a no, how hard can that be?"

Slamming a tankard onto the bar, Boston scratched part of his baldpate. "Get out of here gypsy, none of us have anything to say to you."

"Ten thousand dollars is an expensive premium to put on your pride," arms parted Virgil refused to take the hint almost as if he was inviting pain.

"Get lost," barked one of the losing card players a cowpoke called Hawkins who'd just blown a month's wages in half an hour.

"Nothing would please me more than to divest myself of your tawdry company gentlemen, but my need is urgent and this renegade has been spotted close to here so let me repeat myself."

Grady rose one hand on his gun butt, eyes like two pieces of freshly cut diamond. "Are you deaf or just stupid, we don't talk to the likes of you?"

Realising he'd come to the end of this particular piece of rope Virgil put two fingers in his mouth and blew, the sharp whistle made all five men jump with shock and Grady almost drew his gun. Picking up a shovel Boston came from around the bar, his great chest blotting it out.

"Don't make me split your filthy head open, I've just mopped my floor."

Backing away only as far as the door Virgil opened this to permit his guest to enter, and a new hush fell upon the establishment as the small, darkly clad stranger emerged from a watery sunset. Eyes widened with shock and not a little revulsion, and the station owner tightened his grip on the shovel.

"No Chinese allowed," he said reading from his own sign over the bar which said in black ink, – NO BLACKS, INDIANS OR CHINESE.

Virgil sighed, "Mister Tauro is not Chinese, he comes from the island of Japan where he is regarded as a nobleman. Not something you fellows could ever be mistaken for."

Twitching his small moustache, Tauro bowed slightly and let his eyes jump from man to man appraisingly. He did not smile nor did he speak, but the air of self-importance bordered on hauteur, even contempt. He was like a prince visiting peasants and not liking the smell. Dressed all in black with a black belt around his middle he cut a sinister figure, and there was something dangerous in those hawk-like eyes an unspoken violence.

"I don't care where he's from," said Boston. "He ain't from here and he ain't white, so he can get out just like you."

With a theatrical shrug Virgil tossed the door shut, "Sadly these men have chosen not to help us Mr Tauro, I believe them to be dishonest."

The oriental nodded slightly and removed his cloak, handing it to the driver as though it were precious then he strode further into the room cracking the leather of his black gloves.

"Bust his yellow head," Grady snarled and Boston hoisted his shovel as he took a step forward, just one step mind because he didn't get to take another. A boot shot forwards to hit him hard in the solar plexus, it was accompanied by a sharp cry from Tauro who used the same boot to deliver a second kick to the shovel, snapping it in half and sending both halves flying. Putting the foot down he used it to turn his body one hundred and eighty degrees before back kicking Boston with his other foot and sending him right over the bar with a loud crash.

Grady drew his gun, and at this range he rarely missed. But he didn't fire because he wasn't able to, not with a small metal star buried in his forehead just above the left eye. It had been thrown with consummate skill from a crouching position, and rising out of this crouch Tauro watched his dead victim fall backwards without so much as an oath.

The two losing gamblers Hawkins and Nichols rose to their feet in shock and anger. Hawkins even threw a punch at the Japanese fighter that was right on target, and one of his better efforts. Sadly for him it was forearmed aside one second before a fusillade of sickeningly brutal and skilled blows impacted with his chest, groin and windpipe. Nichols took out an old hunting knife and lunged with it only to find his attack deflected, his wrist bent painfully backwards and the knife plucked from his grasp. Quick as a conjuror Tauro caught it, turned it and buried it deep into the cowman's gut.

Only man was still standing out of the original five, and he hadn't moved a muscle during the amazing display. Eyes on the Japanese master he downed the remains of his corn whisky and said, "He's working on the Nevins farm three miles west of here as a handyman."

Fists still raised Tauro looked at Virgil to see if this seemed remotely true, he received a slow nod and the fists went down.

"You must want this half-breed very badly friend," said the barfly. Looking at all the scattered bodies Virgil permitted himself a contented smile, oh yes he certainly did. Handing the cape back to its owner he opened the station door, but Tauro was looking hard at the barfly and wondering whether he deserved to live.

Sadly the barfly poured himself another glassful, this was finished long before the wagon departed.

As the mallet reached the height of its arc the man holding it paused for just a second, then brought the hammer head down onto the top of a fresh post smashing it into the hard clay until it was identical to its thirty or so cousins. The fence was now complete and that meant the day's work was done, but the workman did not slump wearily to wipe his face. Instead he let his gaze jump beyond the posts to a bird balanced on a sparse branch that cried noisily. It was looking right back at him without fear, but in its cry was a warning.

Caine had long ago learned never to discard such warnings, they were never given lightly for birds did not trust men and only helped those in the greatest need. Danger coming said the cry seek cover now. Putting the battered, soft brimmed black hat back on his head Caine blinked moisture from his narrow eyes, rested the mallet over a shoulder and ambled back towards the farmhouse where he knew a fresh pot of soup would be simmering over an open fire.

As he did not eat meat there would be none in the soup, his employer was both considerate and tolerant of his strange foreign ways.

"I cannot eat the flesh of another living creature," he had said and this was not questioned or derided like some would have. Increasing his pace Caine felt the couch grass tickle the sides of his bare feet and a slight breeze dry the sweat on his cheeks, he had worked without pause since sunrise and it was almost sunset now, but that was one of his ways to. In return for board and lodgings he repaired things, or healed the sick and this time he was doing both for there was much that was broken in the Nevins family, much that had been lost.

Instead of entering the main house he diverted to the barn, where he would discard his mallet – tools did not belong in the house as Sarah Nevins had often told him so he would not take them there. He knew at once the barn wasn't deserted from the clumsy, noisy gait of other feet, feet less assured than his own and the gasps of effort that moving those feet took.

Framed in the doorway of the barn he saw Tommy trying in vain to manhandle a pitchfork, attempting to use it to shift hay from floor to wheelbarrow. The boy was strong but lacked dexterity his hands would not serve him anymore than his oddly misshaped legs would support him. Bitter tears fell from anguished eyes as the impossibility of the task sank in and Tommy derided himself, "Goddamn freak!" He spat meaning himself, "useless cripple."

Caine let out a sigh at these harsh judgements, but he did rush to aid the boy for he knew such aid would not be welcomed, indeed it would only underscore the cruel disparity between them. Instead he put the mallet aside as Tommy blinked up at him.

"It is time to eat," the workman said softly in his understated yet dignified way.

"I haven't finished my chores," said a proud voice from a pained face.

"Can they not wait until your stomach is satisfied?" The growling of Tommy's hunger had been evident outside the barn.

"I have to earn my food, just like everyone else." Tommy was sixteen going on thirty-six, and saw himself as the man of the house.

"The task will keep," said Caine with compassion in his eyes.

"I promised to clean up the straw, mum expects it to be done by sunset."

Nodding Caine picked up a second pitchfork, it was bigger than the one the boy held and with it he scooped up a bundle of hay to drop this into a container the job would be shortened by two pairs of hands and this way he was helping Tommy not replacing him so there was no loss of dignity.

Later as they entered the main farmhouse to eat Tommy was smiling, his bad mood had lifted and he actually seemed to have enjoyed the work. Caine didn't talk much but he was great to be around, he had a quiet strength and Tommy found him reassuring. Sarah glanced up from her simmering pot, "Wash your hands." She told Tommy, he held them out for her to inspect.

"Already did, Mr Caine brought in a bucket from the well."

Smiling at the workman, Sarah received a polite nod in return. However what he said next wiped the smile from her face,

"The farmhouse is being watched from a hill one mile to the west."

Stunned she went to a window that looked west and peered through it, there were many hills but she couldn't see any men. "How do you know that Mr Caine?"

"I saw the reflection of the sun off their glass, there are two of them and one has a rifle."

Still unable to see anything Sarah felt a cold knot of fear congeal in her stomach, she didn't doubt Caine's words, as he wasn't a man to make things up. A few times in the past men of ill repute had visited the farm knowing she was a woman alone and thinking her an easy mark, her skill with a shotgun had soon disabused them of this notion. This though felt different, why would two men put the property under surveillance?

"Do you know who they are?" She asked with an edge to her voice.

"One of them is a countryman of yours, the other is from the east."

Tommy was curious, "How do you know that Mr Caine?"

Joining Mrs Nevins by the window the tall Eurasian shrugged, "His stillness, his patience, his lack of a gun all speak of a discipline I am familiar with."

"You mean he's Chinese?" The boy probed, but Sarah had another concern.

"Are they interested in me and my son, or are they here for you Mr Caine?"

It was a good question a logical deduction and the priest inclined his head to indicate his appreciation.

"I think it would be wise to find out," he responded.

Sarah blinked back at him, "You want me to challenge them?"

Not you his look responded as he crept towards the door, he could eat later this was a more pressing problem and he did not want to leave the initiative in the hands of the watchers.

Virgil took a bottle of corn rye from his saddle and removed the stopper. Just as he was about to drink he caught the eye of the Japanese warrior knelt close by watching him. "Helps lubricate my courage," the white man announced but he didn't drink straight away. "This fellow we're after has the same skills as you, he's a dangerous man according to the poster and won't be easy to take even by cover of night. That's why you're here Mr Tauro, why I'm willing to split the reward fifty-fifty."

He took a pull and the strong liquor burned his throat all the way down. "Young Sarah is a widow lady, has been since her husband died last fall. I say died, actually he was murdered – by me if you must know. Hell it was an accident really I didn't mean to kill him. He was packing wages for his hands you see, over two thousand dollars. I tried to relieve him of them by hitting him from behind but I hit him a mite too hard. Jack Nevins wasn't the sort of fellow you tackled up front – too handy with his fists."

"You are weak," came the grunt from across the clearing and Virgil lowered his bottle with a frown.

"What say you?" He wasn't used to being insulted by a partner certainly not some foreigner. But as his hand strayed to the gun in his felt, Tauro plucked a throwing star from his sleeve and held it up to be caught by the rays of a dying sun. As soon as he saw it Virgil forgot about his gun and gave a cheesy smile of defeat.

"Easy Mr Tauro, we're not here to fight each other."

Face like stone the assassin did not put his shuriken away, nor did he seem to relax he just knelt there poised then quick as a flash his wrist moved as he flicked the deadly star. Virgil felt his whole body tighten with fear, sure he was going to die but the star missed him it flew past his left ear and struck something else.

When he turned he saw it had hit a branch – no something on the branch something soft bodied, long and coiled with a diamond shaped head. The snake had been inches from him and based on its size and colouration it was highly venomous, one bite would have been enough.

"Weak and undisciplined," Tauro added. This time Virgil offered no argument, how could he when this strange little character had just saved his life?

The next instant Tauro was on his feet, head back, fists near his belt. "He is coming."

Virgil looked around blindly, he'd once been a tracker but he couldn't detect anything.

"Are you sure?"

"He approaches barefoot, he knows we are here."

Rifle in hand the bounty hunter studied the landscape near and around the farm, "I see nothing."

With a snort Tauro began to climb a tree. As agile as a monkey he was soon obscured by its branches.

"What are you doing?" Virgil spat, the lack of reply irritated him but there was nothing he could do to change his partner so he fixed his gaze on the farmhouse. Caine was no longer there so that meant it was undefended. A cunning smile slowly spread itself across swarthy features. Little Miss Sarah would be there with only a cripple to protect her, no match for a determined man with a rifle who had unfinished business.

"You deal with Caine my eastern friend," Virgil hissed. "I have other fish to fry."

Sarah was astonished when her son rose from his chair no longer supported by his sticks, he had two of these crutches but they remained leaning against the dining table. With a grunt of effort Tommy bent his knees, repositioned his body weight and moved his hands to his hips. Then he extended one hand forwards to chest height, the fingers bent and curled into a curious shape that was both beautiful and threatening.

"This is the praying mantis position," the boy gasped. "Mr Caine taught it to me."

Shocked to see her son on his feet unaided Sarah felt tears prickle her eyes. It was clearly taking all of Tommy's strength and will to hold the stance, and her heart sang with joy at his courage. He said, "At first I could only stand like this for a few seconds, now I can hold it for two minutes; isn't that great?"

Several doctors had told Sarah that her son would never be able to stand or walk without crutches, that his bent spine meant he would be a cripple all his life.

"I'm going to protect you mum," the boy declared. "I'm going to look after you."

Speechless she continued to stare at him as he took a tentative step away from the table, then another. His big upper body swayed precariously but he didn't fall, sweat beading his forehead he moved over to a shelf on which lay his father's six-gun.

Very carefully he reached out with his left hand to take this down.

"No Tommy," Sarah cried but too late.

Tommy dropped the gun and with a loud thud it hit the timber floor to lie on its side.

"Damnation," the boy cried in frustration. "Mum, pick it up for me."

No thought Sarah I won't help you to carry a gun, guns are evil.

"Mum, please!"

"Leave it," she cried.

"But I'm the man of the house now, it's my duty."

She went to him and he fell into her arms, his weak legs trembling and breath coming in rasps.

"You don't need to prove anything to me Tommy, I love you no matter what."

"How touching," said a voice from the kitchen door. The rifle was visible first, then the dirty brown boots, finally the good luck charm around Virgil's unshaved neck. He was smiling and in the smile Sarah read unbridled lust and poisonous envy. "My, my it hasn't changed a bit," said the killer. "Not since it used to be my home, which it soon will be again."

"Get out of here," Sarah cried holding tight to her son.

Kicking the door shut Virgil regarded them with a chuckle, "Your Chinese handyman won't be coming back I'm afraid, my partner will deal with him and while he is that gives us a little time to get reacquainted. Oh you're quite the lady of the manor these says aren't you Sarah, still looking down your nose at me. Well those days are over."

Tommy went for the fallen gun Sarah couldn't stop him. But made clumsy by his condition he missed it and sprawled on the kitchen floor with an angry grunt, knocking the gun even further away. It came to rest under Virgil's left boot.

"A dead husband and a crip for a son, truly the wheel has turned."

"Leave us alone Virgil, you lost this place through neglect."

"With five thousand dollars in my pocket there won't be any neglect from now on."

She didn't understand, it was clear on her face.

"Your handyman, he's a murderer with a bounty on his head, five grand is my share of the reward."

"No!" Cried Tommy. "He's a good man, he's helped us."

"Shut up crip, there's no help for you." Moving over to the boy Virgil toed him with his right boot. "You just stay on your belly like a good little worm, your momma and me have some things to clear up."

Sarah backed away at the sight of the gun, out of the kitchen and into an inner door, which Virgil pushed to with a chuckle. Enraged Tommy slapped both palms on the floor and pushed, he had to get up and do something to help his mother but his body wouldn't respond he couldn't get up unaided had never been able to.

_Do not fight relax._

Caine's words came back to him from several days ago, so Tommy willed himself to mentally relax.

_Breathe deeply into your abdomen this is where the real power lies._

So Tommy made himself breathe drawing the air the chi into his lungs.

_Picture the goal already achieved._

He saw himself already standing erect with no need for his sticks then he pushed, not with gritted teeth but with a new assurance he was moving like Caine moved with an almost fluid grace. Aided by the table and chair he moved to a kneeling position, paused to breathe again then placed his strong foot on the ground. I can do it he told himself, I have the power in my body to do anything. He pushed up, his whole frame shook but he kept going. Pain knifed into his spine and hips but he wouldn't quit, up and up until he was standing. Sweat beaded his cheeks and top lip, it had been like climbing a steep hill.

Sticks – they were scattered to one side. He took a step towards them.

_Each steps gives you strength, each breath draws in more of the universe._

Tommy reached his sticks, but for once he didn't grab them both reflexively he picked up just one the sturdiest and then he turned to the inner door. He held the stick as he never had before with the tip now ascendant as though it were a sword, or a shaolin staff.

Caine froze in a crouch he was as still as a leopard as he drew in every sensation around him, he couldn't see much with his eyes so he closed them and embraced other sensations such as hearing and scent. At the temple he had developed all his senses acutely, sometimes he would spend a whole day using nothing but hearing or taste or smell to sharpen them. He began to understand a little of Master Po's amazing awareness, to see without seeing to become one with the environment.

Up above and to the left was a discrepancy, something that did not belong out here. Still but alien, an enemy in waiting.

Then the enemy moved, arm up and back then forward with a flick. Caine leapt and rolled, agile as a monkey, swift as a serpent. The deadly metal star missed him and blunted itself on a rock, as he came up into a new stance. The enemy threw again, and his aim was good. This time the priest did not roll he merely weaved like a young sapling in the wind. The star was closer but it still flew by to bury itself in timber.

Angrily Tauro dropped from his perch, still he could not be seen but Caine knew where he was, could hear his feet on the earth, his knee joints bend and the air escape his lungs.

Down on his stomach the priest balanced on fingers and toes like a lizard. The enemy approached him with stealth, a short run a pause then another short run followed by a leap into a boulder. A knife was produced, flipped so that the blade could he held then it was aimed and thrown. Caine rolled sideways until reached some cactus. The knife impaled the soil where his heart had been.

Tauro gave a grunt of anger as though not used to being frustrated, he jumped down and widened his stance then from around his middle he uncoiled the cruellest of manual weapons, a device for punishment and torture that lashed the air.

With one whiplash he tore the cactus in half, Caine's head and face were exposed.

"Get up holy man," came the snarl. "Stand and face me like a true warrior in the field of combat."

Slowly almost lazily the kung fu master got to his feet, his hands parted wide then circled inwards as tiger's claws until they were parallel with his chest. Tauro smiled, his whip tickling the soil and clay between them. "Your art will yield to mine priest, for through my veins runs the blood of the samurai, the ninja."

Caine's eyes were fathomless and untroubled, "We are not the past but a new seed." He said.

"You are a fool, we are the sum total of our ancestors." Came the clipped response.

"Can we not be more? Can we not be greater? Have we not the ability to choose?"

Tauro nodded, "Yes and I choose to take your life, to prove myself a true warrior."

"Does a true warrior need proof of his abilities?"

"You ask too many questions Kwai Chang," the whip rose into the night air. "It is time for your questioning tongue to be stilled."

Moving around to face his opponent with light steps Caine flowed from orthodox to southpaw, his arms like swaying branches his fingers probing the air, first stiff then curled. The whip cracked at the stars then lunged at him, deadly as a cobra.

Sarah had been pushed onto a bed and lay there white-cheeked, stood over her Virgil regarded his potential conquest. He had waited a long time for this and was savouring the moment, first though he had a revelation to deliver. "I killed your husband Sarah, I was the man they hunted for but never found."

He wanted to shock her but she shocked him, "I know, I think I've always known."

"Your knew, why didn't you say anything?"

"How could I prove it?"

"I didn't mean to kill him."

"No but you mean to kill me, and the boy don't you?" She spat.

"I'm here for Caine and the bounty on his head."

"But Tommy and me are witnesses Virgil, you can't you won't leave any wagging tongues."

The woman was smart, even in her terror she was thinking straight.

"No I suppose I can't at that," Virgil conceded.

"Spare the boy," Sarah pleaded. "Do what you like to me but don't harm my son, hasn't he suffered enough?"

The laugh was a mocking trill of denial, what did she take him for a fool? No wagging tongues that could lead him to the gallows, that was the rule and he wasn't going to break it for anyone not even this woman.

But as he grabbed her by the hair the door behind him crashed open and Tommy stood there. Virgil couldn't believe his eyes the cripple was walking on his own two feet. Angrily he drew his gun, with a single well-timed blow from his walking stick Tommy sent it flying with a blow that hurt Virgil.

"Leave my mother alone," the youth gasped. "And get out of this house now."

Virgil's rifle was propped up against a table, but as he went for it the stick caught him a paralysing blow to the ribs before whipping up into his face to smash him on the nose. With a cry the bounty hunter fell over the bed holding his face, tears streaming from both eyes.

"Run for it mum," Tommy said and Sarah got to her feet to run over. "Get out of here," her son said, sounding less like a boy and more like a man with each moment. "I'll deal with this scum."

"Leave him be Tommy."

"I overheard what he said mum, he's a killer and he murdered my pa."

"What will more violence achieve?"

Swallowing Tommy raised his weapon, "We must protect ourselves, we must help Mr Caine."

Then Virgil came off the bed in a snarl of rage, a knife in his left fist. He punched with it at Tommy's heart determined to kill him.

Caine took off he flew into the air, his body flipping over so that the whip went over him and under him but not strike him. The leap also took him nearer to his opponent so that when he landed on his bare feet he was close enough to Tauro to make use of the short-arm strikes in his arsenal, blows that would become familiar to any adept in the Wing Chun system. Six such blows hit their targets and Tauro fell on his back winded, stunned and disarmed. He lay there grunting and disabled, his arrogant veneer punctured and his lethal whip gone.

Rolling away from the priest he picked himself up and drew two short swords from his belt, the tridents were known as Sai where he came from and they rotated in his grasp as though alive.

Caine altered his stance moving into a softer cat position, arms circling into his chest then extending as dragon's claws with the left being foremost whilst the right remained near the centre-line.

With a loud KIAI the other man attacked him with wind milling arms, blades cutting the air in large crescents as they homed in on their targets of flesh and bone. But Caine was not there to receive them dropping to the earth he forward rolled like a monkey, came up and butted his rival in the solar plexus.

Thrown back with the air driven out of him, Tauro gave a gasp then attempted to impale Caine in the neck and chest with a double strike. Catching both wrists before this was possible, the master of shaolin lifted both arms high, thrust his hip into the warrior's body, turned and threw him cross-buttock to the ground with a resounding crash and an expulsion of air. The lethal tridents flew in two directions, skittering away from the field of combat.

Caine waited knowing it wasn't over, his arms coiled in and down into a ready position as his knees bent and his hips turned. Drawing himself upright Tauro spat dirt from his teeth, he had been disarmed most effectively and it had never happened before in a long and meritorious career. Stepping forwards with his left leg he went into FUDO DACHI his hands becoming as fists.

"I fight you your way priest," he croaked. "My karate against your art, and I shall break you."

"Must it come to that?" Came the question, "can we not cease now before real harm is done?"

"I have lost face, I must regain it and there is only one way." With another blood curdling scream the Japanese kicked forwards with both legs, and Caine widened his posture in preparation.

The gunshot was as loud as thunder, Tommy had never heard one before not close up. Freezing where he stood he watched as Virgil fell back, gripped himself and sank to the floor in a heap. Sarah held the colt 45 in both fists smoke issuing from its barrel. Tommy couldn't believe his eyes his mum had shot a man she was the most timid and forgiving of people.

Lowering the weapon Sarah let it fall onto the bed before hugging her son protectively, she had done it for him as she did everything else. "I love you," she said. "And I always will, you're all I have left."

He felt tears come to his own eyes and they spilled out over both cheeks.

This was how Caine found them, mother and son locked in an embrace whilst a man lay dead on the floor. It is over he thought at least for these two, but I am still a wanted man.

"The other man will not trouble you again," he said softly not adding any details.

"My mum shot Virgil," Tommy said.

"And you can walk without a stick," the lodger observed.

"Only because of what you taught me Mr Caine."

"The effort required came from you Tommy, it was your will and desire that made the teaching effective."

Swallowing the youth looked down at himself he was still bent and stiff his legs didn't work as they should but he no longer felt like a cripple.

"You are a man," said Caine proudly. "More of a man than the two who came here to terrorize the innocent."

Sarah nodded, "They came looking for you didn't they Mr Caine?"

"As others have before them and others will tomorrow."

She understood he was leaving them because he had no choice. Tommy seemed stricken but even he seemed to understand there was no choice, if Caine remained then so did the danger.


End file.
